


The Dance that Matters Most

by lesyeuxverts



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 06:33:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesyeuxverts/pseuds/lesyeuxverts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn't the dancing that Harry minds. It's watching Draco Malfoy passed around the dance floor like a party favour in pretty robes. He dances with everyone except Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dance that Matters Most

It isn't the dancing that Harry minds. It's watching Draco Malfoy passed around the dance floor like a party favour in pretty robes. He dances with everyone except Harry.  
  
There's plenty of champagne at the Ministry Yule Ball, there always is. Harry takes two glasses and pretends that he's making his way towards Ginny, but at the last second he turns and slips out of the ballroom and onto the grand terrace.  
  
There, with the fairy lights and the familiar shadows and the view of the city, Harry downs the champagne, one glass after another. It sparkles as it goes down his throat.  
  
The years after the war have been kind to Draco Malfoy. His family's in favour with the wizarding world once more, having donated half their fortune to various charitable causes. It's Draco who heads up the Restoration of the Wizarding World committee that was drafted by the Wizengamot. It's Draco who owns the orphanage where the children of the Death Eater's victims are raised and adopted and sent out into the world, starting carefree lives free of strife. Draco and his Galleons have made sure of that.  
  
This is the world that Harry made safe, but it's Draco who's at the center of it now. Harry, on the other hand, is useless. He lets his fist thump down on the marble railing, a blow that stings, and wishes he had another glass of champagne. He can't help but wonder if things would be different now if he had taken Draco's hand on the train.  
  
Ginny isn't the one who finds him on the terrace – she doesn't care what Harry does at these functions, as long as he's bought her a pretty robe beforehand. He knows she's in the ballroom dancing with Dean Thomas. He knows that he's all but lost his girlfriend, and doesn't much care.  
  
Usually Ron or Hermione finds him out here and drags him back in to the ball. If it's Hermione, Harry has to endure another dance before he can slip away again – if it's Ron, they will go to the bar and have a pint together before Ron is dragged off to dance. It's not the dancing that Harry minds.  
  
Harry's startled when he hears a voice behind him, when there's a hand on his shoulder, when it's Draco come to find him on the terrace.  
  
"What do you want?"  
  
Draco flicks his wand at Harry's empty glasses, and they fill with sparkling champagne again. Taking one of them, Draco wipes the rim of the glass clean and drinks deeply from it. He brushes the last of the champagne from his mouth with the back of his hand and then sets the glass down on the railing.  
  
"You seem to have found a nice refuge," Draco says. "But there's nothing that says I can't hide out here as well. Even the Gryffindor Golden Boy doesn't own the terrace."  
  
Harry takes the other glass of champagne that Draco conjured and checks it for poison before drinking it. "I never said I owned it," he says. "And you – you're the one they all want to dance with. I'm hardly the Golden–"  
  
Draco laughs at that – doesn't stop laughing until he's conjured more champagne and then he chokes on the bubbles. "Oh, Potter," he says, coughing and stumbling closer to Harry. He slings an arm over Harry's shoulder and looks down at him. "You really _are_ simple. You think they don't want to dance with you?"  
  
He pulls Harry closer, until their hips brush together and Draco's breath is warm on his cheek. "Let me tell you," he says. " _Everyone_ wants to dance with you. Your girlfriend has frightened them all off with her Bat Bogey Hex. Word has it that anyone who dances with you will get it."  
  
"I can dance with anyone I want to." Harry finishes off his champagne and holds his glass out for Draco to refill it. "She doesn't own me."  
  
Draco shifts until they stand face to face. He takes Harry's glass and sets it on the balcony, next to his own, and he puts his hands on Harry's shoulders. "Of course you can," he says. "And I'm not afraid of Ginny Weasley. I'd like to dance with you."  
  
"Okay," Harry says. He doesn't mind dancing – not really – and he lets Draco lead him into a simple waltz, following the faint echo of music that comes from the dancing inside.  
  
Draco's robes look better on the terrace than they did in the ballroom – they may have shone when he was passed around from dancer to dancer like a party favour, but they sparkle now in the twilight, when he's in Harry's arms.  
  
"This is nice," Harry says, trying not to step on Draco's feet.  
  
"Mmm. Yes." Draco looks up at him. Shadows flicker over his face, and light streaming from the moon and the ballroom, highlighting his cheekbones and his pale grey eyes. He watches Harry for a long moment and then he smiles, pulling him closer. "I'd like to dance with you again, perhaps at the New Year's Gala."  
  
It's not the dancing that matters, in the end. After the Ball, Draco Apparates them both to his flat in London and teaches Harry an entirely different dance, and it turns out that _that_ is what makes all the difference.


End file.
